He had taken to walking about the areas surrounding the city. Sleep wasn't coming easily now but that wasn't a terrible problem for him. He was afraid what came to him in the realm of dreams would be worse than what inflicted him while the sun burned high above, so while the moon walked its path so too did he pick his own. No grand travel it was by any means, merely into the reaches of Thanalan directly bordering Ul'dah itself, but the sunrise was something to behold nonetheless. He tried to shake his other memories of watching it rise.
He felt lighter in his steps when going like that, and to a large extent he was; He'd left an elezen's weight in armor and equipment back in the room and chose to make his way in just his clothes as he had years before. He felt leaner, too, though he suspected that was primarily just the lack of armor obfuscating his sense of self. He'd hoped it wasn't due to how little he'd been eating. He'd have to remember to wear bulkier clothing in the evenings, when a chance meeting was possible.
He'd stopped at the Scorpion's Crossing shortly after sun-up to see the hustle and bustle of the tradepost. There was something refreshing about seeing the day breaking over honest work that soothed the soul. It was there he'd intended to pick up something of a breakfast and make his way back to the city walls but he was stopped by a bearded and tanned elderly gentleman's plea to the public.
"Isn't there anyone who will help an old man?" He looked aged but not infirm. Humble, loose clothing adorned him and seemed every bit the outcast to the hard-bodied working folk plying their trades and loading their cargo for the day. Some paid the man some mind, turning his down and gesturing to the stack of boxes that awaited processing. Others ignored him entirely.
"What's the trouble?" Warren felt his heartstrings tug as the old man's eyes lit up in gratitude and excitement. He turned his attention at once the the highlander, walking and half-hobbling towards him.
"He was here when I bedded down for the night, but it's Oschon! Oschon's gone off! Kidnapped! Or maybe just out for a snack before breakfast..." The man's eyes darted here and there, looking off towards lodging at first, then towards the fields. Warren held up a large hand, trying to halt the man.
"Wait. Oschon?" He raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was a joke. He looked about to see the reactions of the passersby, trying to discern if he was being made a fool of.
"Yes, yes. Oschon! My prized aldgoat. We're coming back from the Silver Bazaar on a, uh, business proposition, y'see. He's a wonderful specimen, something to behold. Strong, radiant. Sturdy beast. Sometimes the other farmers need a little, uh..." He nudged Warren with an elbow and clicked his tongue twice. Eyebrows raised suggestively and Warren shook his head.
"I get it, I get it." He pondered this for a moment. "Your aldgoat walked off while you slept? An aldgoat named Oschon. Wandered off on you." He still didn't quite believe it, though the folks around him tipped off nothing if it was in fact a jest.
"That's right. Guess I asked for that myself, huh? The name fits, though. When he was a calf he'd wind up all over the place. My land, my neighbor's land, you name it. Can't keep a reign on the fella. I had him tied up for the night and everything, but he just won't stay put! S'fitting, I tell you." There was a sincerity to the old man's story, though Warren still felt he was being taken for a ride. Regardless, he didn't have anything else to do with his day...
"Alright. I suppose I can lend a hand for you. Where do you think he got off to? Maybe back to the bazaar, if there's some women around for him? Maybe he got lovesick." Warren smiled bittersweetly.
"Ayuh, that's a chance I guess. Probably not, though. He likes going forward, not back. I figure he's somewhere north of here. Or east. Northeast, maybe? Definitely not west, though. Likely not." The old man pointed as he spoke, though his directions didn't match his finger.
"How am I gonna know which one's yours? There's wild goats all over these flatlands, you know." Warren crossed his arms.
"Oh, you'll know." The old man grinned and presented a satchel. "Here. Apples from the frozen hills. His favorite. Hoping he didn't cut that-away for some. Shoulda known I'd have some for him, the old fool. I'll wait here for you, just in case he wanders back. Never does, though."
It was with this that Warren found himself wandering north, or maybe east, but definitely not west, probably, chasing after Oschon. He was twenty bells past the Crossing's limits when he realized he hadn't bothered to get breakfast. The pack of apples on his back didn't weigh him down physically but the idea danced across his mind.
I'll find the goat first, then I'll maybe have one. They're not for me, and you'd think I'd know better than to take an offering for one of the Twelve. Aldgoat or not.
The old man's story amused him. He kept an eye out for any other backpacked travelers looking for a special pack beast as he went, but the land was devoid of most any except the early morning caravans. A pang of homesickness spoke up in his chest, taking brief residence beside the other in his heart before he forced his attention back to the task at hand. He was familiar with the lands around the city well enough and sought first north to the bridge connecting the Crossing's road with Horizon's. The sun hadn't yet begun to beat down in earnest as he ignored the dry tickle in his throat. The thought of that stream was refreshing to him, and he was a man. Surely an aldgoat would think the same. He counted his blessings that the clouds blocked the sky, even if they looked somewhat ominous. The heat never seemed to care, but it seemed easier to manage without the full bright of the sun watching over you.
***
The moments after seemed somewhat surreal. The goat was wounded in one of the many small alcoves pockmarking the Wells' stream and Warren sat beside it in the mud while they waited out the storm that had grown overhead. He paid small mind to the broken and battered body of the imp-like voidsent that had apparently been fixing for steak for lunch, sitting with himself between it and Oschon's muzzle. He was no beastmaster, but the goat seemed uneasy to stand on his own power. Strong as he was, Warren knew better than to think he was carrying the beast out of there. The rain came down as Warren removed the pack from his shoulders.
"You recognize this?" He spoke out loud, holding the bag out for the creature to sniff. His nostrils flared as his mouth opened, moving towards the straps keeping it cinched shut. "Now now, I can open it. You don't strain yourself." Warren did as he said he would and opened the bag, turning it upside down and dumping out a half dozen or so faerie apples. "Help yourself. They're for you, you know."
The creature wasn't waiting for an invitation, happily dragging his sideways body towards the pile and sinking his teeth into one of the fruits. Warren shook his head bemused and looked away. His thirst pulled at him but he looked back to the body of the imp and reconsidered putting anything from the stream in his mouth. He'd hoped it wouldn't make much difference by the time it got downstream enough to affect anyone. It was only one imp, but...
He shook his right hand, reprimanding himself for doing something like this without so much as a staff to defend himself while simultaneously being thankful for the time he'd spent mirroring the fighters back at the Bloodsands. He had no formal training aside from that of an unruly youth, but he seemed to retain enough. He kept feeling the awkward, tearing snap as the creature's wing gave way, the pathetic yelp as it flopped to the ground and turned, eyes wide with fear and hate.
He didn't want to consider the bruises, and he'd already felt the cracking blisters on his shoulder where the creature's one chance at offense charred and blackened the edge of his shirt. Warren immediately sank himself into the stream when he was sure the monster was dead and he swore he heard it sizzle when he submerged himself to the shoulder. He's smeared himself with mud from the bank, hoping it would help cool the sear.
He spared a glance towards the aldgoat. While Warren had been reliving the experience, Oschon had been eating. There weren't even cores left in his wake, and he was working on the second to last fruit. The goat's eyes fell on Warren and he paused mid-bite, as if guilty, then resumed his mindless devouring of his gift. Warren reached out with his left hand, wincing as he stretched and picked up the remaining apple. Oschon loosed a small whine despite his mouth being full.
"I'll give it up under one condition," he mused, holding it up as the rain poured hard outside. The beast finished chewing and looked at him with sad, pleading brown eyes. Warren was torn between how silly he felt and how dumb it was, but there was a tug in his head and his heart that it couldn't hurt. Anything to keep his mind off of what came next.
"I'll go for help from your master and I'll turn over this delicious, crisp faerie apple if you promise me something." He looked at the apple for a moment, then turned his gaze to the goat. The animal's eyes were locked on the fruit, though it did spare him a glance every few moments as if waiting.
"You need to tell Menphina what happened today." He paused, his face turning red. "I know you two are close. Ask her to put in a good word for me. If it isn't too much trouble."
There was a long moment where Warren looked at the aldgoat as if expecting something from it besides animal instinct. Finally, he sighed and extended his arm to Oschon's face, letting it take the apple from his hand. He rose uneasily to his feet as the rain started to let up, though he reasoned in his worn out and dehydrated state it wouldn't do him much harm to go for a walking swim. With a firm pat on the neck/shoulder of the eating creature, Warren set foot out of the cave and back towards civilization.
"Hang in there for me. I need you to."
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